


Last Light

by Bullfinch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Blackwatch Era, Fight Scenes, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: Fantasy AU. When the Omnics, an army of machines created through the forbidden discipline of soul magic, threaten the world, Gabriel Reyes and his team of mages are there to stop them. But there is always a price to be paid for good deeds; and as Gabriel bore the risk, so too he bears the cost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually have a plot for this yet so updates may be slow. Will be slow.

_“Pull back!”_ Gabriel shouts, as loud as he can, hears the echoing calls across the battlefield. _“Pull back!”_

Houses burn around him in the night,the reflection of flames dancing gaily on the scattered metal shells of fallen Omnics. The human corpses aren’t as pretty, and even the smoke can’t cover over the reek of evisceration and death. Gabriel, panting, breathes it in again and again as he runs through the ruined village. Familiar by now. His blade is heavy in his hands so he shunts it into the scabbard on his back, the leather edge parting to envelop it once more.

Crusader’s Ford was fucked the minute the Omnics crossed the river but it doesn’t matter, because they have to be stopped. Tonight. A war of attrition for both sides but if the Omnium, the last Omnium, takes the ford then the path to Rhine where the queen sits is straight and clear. The walls there might still hold if there were men left to defend them.

But there aren’t. Gabriel read the reports this afternoon. The second-to-last Omnium was killed before it hit Rhine, that was the good news. The bad news was everything else.

“Gabe!” That’s Jack approaching, his bright blue shield scraped and singed from battle. “We can’t retreat, if we lose here—“

“I know, Jack.”

“Then I hope you got a gods-damned plan, because I’m staying no matter what.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel grabs Jack’s arm and drags him behind one of the few houses not on fire. Got a hell of a stitch in his side. “That’s part of the plan.”

Jack kneels, armored back heaving as he gulps in breaths. He scrubs at his bloodied nose, but a fresh trail of red trickles down over his lips. “So what are we doing?”

Gabriel peers around the corner. At the center of town the battle still rages, soldiers caught up where they couldn’t fall back, fighting to give their comrades a chance. The reflections of moon-white Omnic magic set the clashing swords alight.

And beyond, the giant Omnium towers. Vast metal plates float on the cloud of magic that surrounds the core. It sends flashing bolts of white down to its children, rejuvenating them when they’ve been damaged. The cores, Gabriel knows, everyone knows, you have to destroy the Omnics’ cores to kill them. But they’re not that easy to get to.

“We’re going to kill the Omnium,” Gabriel tells Jack.

Jack stares at him, still gulping in air. “We’re going to what?”

“My magic’s strong. So is yours. We just have to get the core.”

“Gabe—it’s never taken less than ten of us to kill one. And everyone else is still sixty miles away.”

Yes. Because they were on the other Omnium this morning and it needed to be killed and he and Jack needed to hold at Crusader’s Ford, but they couldn’t because there were too many Omnics and too many dead soldiers, so fucking many it’s almost impossible to conceptualize. He reads the numbers on the reports. Day after day.

“If the Omnium doesn’t die here the capital will fall,” Gabriel murmurs. “We have to kill it. We have to do everything we can. Will you help me?”

“Ah, shit. Of course I will.”

“Good.” He steps out from behind the wall, jogging with the rest of the soldiers. The Omnics are hanging back, forming up again. Gabriel grimaces and runs faster. “To me!” he shouts.

They follow. He is known, he and the blade Hellfire at his back and his gift for turning battles that should be lost. They’ll come to him expecting an answer. A stroke of genius, a thundering reply to the enemy pouring over the river.

They won’t hear it.

Gabriel slows to a stop in a grassy field upon which livestock grazed just yesterday, before everyone was evacuated to the capital. Now it’s empty and dark and quiet but for the faintest hum from the approaching Omnics. The soldiers gather round him, exhausted and singed and bloodied. Many drop their weapons and collapse to their knees, gasping for breath.

“Jack and I are going to try and kill the Omnium,” Gabriel tells them.

How many left? A hundred? Two? All eyes on him now, but little hope there, only confusion and mistrust. They know it can’t be done. Ten mages are the least it’s ever taken to bring down an Omnium. Gabriel tried with seven beside him once and failed. With just ten it nearly killed them.

And he and Jack are two.

“It’s not going to be easy, and it won’t be quick. I need all of you to cover us. I know you’re tired, I know…” Gabriel trails off. This would be the time to say something courageous, something that would bolster their morale and send cheers echoing off the ruined houses beyond them.

He doesn’t have any of that left.

“We have to hold,” he says simply. “If we fall it’s all over. Many of you may yet die tonight but know that what you did before your death gave Jack and me a chance. All I can ask is that you trust me, and you fight for those who have gone before you and those who—gods willing—will come after.”

No more kneeling; they’re on their feet now, and not cheering but determined. That’ll do. Jack is beside him, grasping his arm. “I’m right beside you. Whatever it takes.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel replies. “I mean it. No one else I’d rather have by my side.”

Jack looks up, faintly surprised, as Gabriel realizes too late what he’s just said—hadn’t meant to give shape the amorphous, growing… _thing_ between them, but the second half of the sentence is already on its way out of his mouth. “Your magic’s really fucking useful.”

Jack lets out a chuckle. “Good to know I’m just a magic dispenser for your grand plans—“

“No, you’re not,” Gabriel says, and—hesitantly—takes his hand.

 _“They’re coming!”_ somebody shouts.

That’s that, then. Gabriel releases Jack and draws his sword instead. There’ll be a fight before the Omnium is in range.

The enemy flows toward them, gliding over the bloodied ground. Gabriel advances with Jack beside him. Best to fight on the front lines for now, to keep as many soldiers alive as possible so they’ll have better cover when it matters. It’s going to tire him out of course, and he’s already tired. But they have to hold.

The Omnics close, metal plates dulled by battle, floating in humanoid patterns on the glowing white emanating from their cores. To Gabriel’s left and right soldiers draw their starmetal blades. Plain steel won’t shatter a core. They’re going to die here, plenty of them still, and Hellfire’s tip rests on the ground because Gabriel’s muscles are sore from fighting all evening. He won’t be at his best, even with the stakes. He’ll miss things. They need him at his best but—

The Omnics are here.

Gabriel steps into them, the two-handed sword sweeping up off the ground. Should put something into it—almost too late but he summons a gout of magic, orange spikes of flame erupting from the blade. The strike cleaves an Omnic’s chest plate in two and shatters the crystal core beneath. To the right Jack lashes out with his shield, and lightning explodes on the impact. The Omnic weaves as if drunk. Jack slots his sword in between the protective plates and breaks the core.

Disruption. That’s what Jack does. Stuns the Omnics, messes up the careful structure of the magic that runs them. Gabriel thinks if Jack had been one of the seven beside him during that failed Omnium assault, they might have done it. And it’s the only reason he hopes they have a chance here. Gabriel’s more of a brute-force kinda guy.

 _A waste, isn’t it?_ the Council told him once, in their many voices. _You’re smart. Your sense for magic is sharp. You could be doing so much more than simply blowing things up._

The thing is, he’s read all the books, practiced every discipline he got his hands on, even done some experiments of his own. At the end of the day, he just likes blowing things up. Not that that’ll cut it tonight. But he’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Magic charges through him now, every sword-slash lending it momentum, his body alight with it. Hellfire blazes with ravenous tongues of flame, its edges glowing yellow like an owl’s eyes in the night. It hunts the cores, cleaving armor, devouring the white haze of Omnic magic. Transformation. The only thing he likes as much as explosions. To take the enemy’s magic and turn it into something else.

Nobody else is very good at it. But even if they were, they don’t want to use it against the Omnics. Omnic magic is soul magic and soul magic has been forbidden since the start of the Crisis, with good fucking reason. Humans built the Omnic machines, the core apparatuses programmed with rules and checks and limits, none of which mattered because they built the souls too and nobody knows exactly what a soul can do, manmade or not.

So nobody likes transforming Omnic magic. Except Gabriel. He’s careful. Only uses the waste, the effluvium. Never exposes himself.

“Gabe!” Jack’s yell. “It’s coming!”

The Omnium.

Fifty yards out. Getting there. Range is the only thing Gabriel has a hard time with. They all do, really. Except Amélie and Amari. The machine hums with energy, metal plates suspended on the cloud of white. As it gets closer bolts of magic dart out and bolster the Omnics. Forty yards now. “To me!” Gabriel shouts.

The soldiers close in around them, forming a protective shell. Now. It has to be now. There aren’t enough left alive to hold much longer. Jack is right there beside him. “Gabe!”

Yes. Gabriel sheathes Hellfire and raises his arms.

Magic courses through his entire body. It thunders out of the earth, electrifying the soles of his feet, storming through him, erupting from his palms in an ugly stream of bright yellow fire. Doesn’t need to look good, he thinks distantly, and almost smiles. Just needs to work. Jack is beside him, crackles of lightning in purple joining the spray of power.

It pours into a space between the Omnium’s plates. There’s so much magic inside the damn thing Gabriel wishes he could shave some of it off to strengthen his own, but he can’t transform for shit from this far out.

The Omnium halts.

Gabriel feels the synergy—how Jack's magic weakens its matrix so Gabriel can burn it away. He pours in everything he has, his body nothing but a conduit. Heat billowing from the stream of fire, and sweat breaks out on his forehead. The flames eat the artificial weave, dispersing what’s held within. It's working. The two of them together, it's working.

But not fast enough.

A scream as a soldier falls in front of him, another one stepping in to fill the gap left by her fallen comrade. The Omnics crowd and press from all sides. Gabriel shouts in frustration, stomping his boot on the fresh grass. If there were ever a time to be reckless it’s now, and he heaves in a deep breath, lets the heated air pour into his lungs, stokes the fire with the last scraps of strength he he has left in his exhausted body. The flames gush and roar from his outstretched hands, and lightning snaps and cracks among it, Jack’s eyes wide and blue beside him. It’s _working,_ the combination is working, just time, they only need time. Gabriel spots a soldier belted across the face, his nose caved in; but he lifts his shield to block the next strike and stabs the Omnic up from beneath. The white magic haze flickers.

They’re fighting for him, him and Jack. No. For the kingdom. They might have enough time at _least_ to force a retreat, and then they could make a stand with the others and have a real chance—

Suddenly the light leaves the army of Omnics. A thousand metal plates thud to the ground as they all collapse as one. A few soldiers stumble forward when their opponents disappear, and they glance at each other, confused. The battlefield darkens except for a sparkling fog that rises into the air and drifts up into the Omnium.

“Gabe.” Jack beside him, face showing alarm. “I think it’s—“

The Omnia aren’t weapons, which is the only reason they haven’t killed every person on the continent so far. But Gabriel senses it too, the way its energy condenses and flares to life—

“Get back!” he yells, and hurls up a shield.

Jack needs no command; his arms move with Gabriel’s, and the shield hums, reinforced with new power. The soldiers scramble back, sheltered under the shimmering dome of force just as the Omnium’s plates shift and retract, exposing the core. There’s a _boom_ so loud, so deep it shakes the ground beneath Gabriel’s feet and nearly makes him stumble. But he can’t stumble because—

A pillar of white light descends from the Omnium. Not the haze they’re so familiar with; this is crystal glass, glittering with an intensity so bright Gabriel has to squint or be blinded, spearing down like sunlight through a thunderstorm.

When it strikes the shield nearly breaks. Gabriel feels it like a punch to the chest, and he starts to sink to the ground but _can’t,_ can’t falter because they have to hold. The pillar is unending, pouring down on them in a steady stream of raw, burning power that will evaporate every person here as soon as it touches them.

Omnia aren’t weapons. But they are constantly learning, from their own battles and from each other over vast distances. And this one, at the eleventh hour, has learned to fight back.

Jack’s face is tight with strain. Gabriel can hardly stand. There’s simply too much power. The shield is going to break, soon. He flicks his wrist, claws his fingers and digs into the pillar—feels as if he’s about to cut himself to ribbons on the Omnium’s energy but he scrapes off what he can and layers it over the shield. Still not enough, but it’s buying them a few more seconds. And if there were ever a time to be reckless.

“Jack,” he says. “Take the shield for a second.”

_“What?!”_

Gabriel drops his hands and flattens them to his own chest.

He did his experiments as a young man, before soul magic was forbidden; found he didn’t really like using his own soul as a weapon to be shaped or even just a font of power. The sense of vulnerability was dizzying, the fact of it radically dangerous. The first attempt left him gasping, frightened, curled up alone in his room. He didn’t leave for hours, afraid that one of the other mages would be able to enter him and take what should never have been touched in the first place.

But it was a _lot_ of power.

Gabriel cracks himself open.

It’s nearly brand-new to him so he follows his instinct and finds himself rising into the air, expanding outside his mortal confines, as high now as the massive Omnium itself. He attempts a shape—a blade, something to strike the core—but the very touch upon the magic spilling out of him is a shock that threatens to dissipate what little form he has now. And there’s no time because with only Jack sustaining it, the shield is about to break.

So he dives upon the pillar of light.

It’s razor-sharp and hot as the royal forge in Rhine, but there’s so much power in him now that the pain is nothing, hardly a thought in the back of his mind. Instead he takes it, bends and twists it until it belongs to him and he can do with it what he wants—

Lightning descends upon the ruined village in a deluge. Far too much energy to keep so he transforms it into heat, light, and sound. Thunder rolls over the soldiers crouching below and the grassy fields beyond them, but the lightning-strikes he aims at the abandoned, burning houses and the corpses lying in the streets. Too much— _too much,_ and he feels the surging bolts discharging from his volatile form but they crack off the shield that Jack still maintains, even now.

The Omnium is weakening. The beam of light is gone so Gabriel advances on the machine itself, devouring the white haze and disgorging it upon the village beyond. What isn’t afire is ash already, the earth torn up and scorched. So much strength. No wonder soul magic was practiced despite its danger; this kind of power is seductive. The Omnium’s magic shrinks, vast plates crashing to the ground. The core, twice as high as a man, drifts to earth, flickers and starts to dim—

What’s left of the Omnium reaches for him.

Gabriel knows then he’s made a mistake, overextended himself at a time when the risk was greatest. Because the Omnium is also a soul in a machine that was built to contain souls. It knows what it’s doing.

And Gabriel doesn’t have the faintest fucking idea. He reels back, scrambling for retreat, but the Omnium is in him and won’t let go. The iron confines of the crystal core call for him. If the Omnium captures him in that thing they’re fucked. It’ll be back on its feet and it’ll kill Jack and everyone else left fighting beneath it.

 _No!_ Gabriel screams, and it comes out not as sound but a bright burst of light; for a brief second the night turns into midday before darkness covers it over again. He swivels and dives—sees his body below, crumpled beside Jack—

Then he is gazing across the field, watching Jack’s shield collapse from forty yards out, the soldiers still crouched behind it. The view from the core.

Gabriel screams again. A bolt of lighting skips across the grass. It’s dragging him in, the terrible gravity of the crystal prison and its hungry inhabitant too great to resist. He was too reckless, and it’s his hubris that’s doomed them; his gamble has failed and the war is lost, the Omnium will consume him and march on Rhine—

Sparks of agony shower through him, and he writhes, letting out a moan that shakes the ground. But the Omnium is beset as well and its grip loosens just a little, just enough for him to start clawing his way back into—

Jack above him, with crackling white-purple energy pouring out of his palm. _“The core!”_ he shouts. _“The core! Destroy the core!”_

Gabriel blinks slowly and then jerks as the sword-blows start battering down. With tears of pain burning in his eyes he reaches weakly, clumsily for Jack’s hand.

Jack starts and looks down, taking Gabriel’s hand in his own. “Gabe? Gabe, I’m trying but I can’t—I’m so tired, I can’t keep this up—“

The Omnium isn’t pulling him in but holds him still. If Jack stops running interference it’ll have him. Gabriel struggles to gather himself back into his own body. It’s too difficult. So much of him remains within the Omnium’s grasp. Still the echoes of agony, the soldiers hacking away at the enormous core with starmetal blades. They’re damaging it, but not fast enough. The stream of energy from Jack’s palm shrinks, then flickers and dies. Out of strength. Gabriel’s finished. The Omnium shifts and starts to invade, uprooting him from the tenuous connection he’d made to his body. Tethers stretch and break and his senses dull, the sound of Jack’s harsh breathing, the smell of dying soldiers, the cool air on his face, the grass tickling his cheek—

Then dry, cracked lips meet his own and Gabriel tastes blood on them.

 _Jack._ The realization is a hammer-stroke. _Jack,_ bent over his half-empty body, out of strength and out of ideas except for this, born from some absurd belief that a mercurial, ubiquitous thing like _love_ can even begin to touch the most potent and volatile field of magic there is—

Gabriel grabs Jack’s face and pulls him in, kissing him harder.

His arms are numb but moving, the rest of him starting to warm. Jack breaks away only long enough to say _“Gabe”_ in something between a whisper and a sob and Gabriel fights and claws and drags himself away from the gods-damned Omnium because his anchor is here, the feeling of Jack’s hand pressed to his heart, bloodied lips on his own.

Free.

The Omnium is overstretched and loses purchase at last. No more iron grasp, no more echoes of pain. It’s only the clang and crunch of starmetal on crystal carrying over the field, heralding the machine’s end.

Jack cups Gabriel’s cheek, gazing down at him with blue eyes bright as lightning. “Gabe, are you okay?”

He wants to answer and manages a grunt but nothing more. His consciousness is begging to flee him, desperate for a reprieve from what he’s just done. What’s been done to him.

“Gabe? Can you hear me?”

 _Yeah, Jack, I’m okay._ Gabriel tries to say it. But his eyelids slip shut and blackness takes him first. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The world is bright when he wakes.

Gabriel blinks, squinting at…the ceiling. Stone and mortar. He’s inside. Okay. For a moment he just breathes in and out.

Still feels sort of disembodied, but in an exhaustion sort of way, not a…ah, shit. Soul magic. He really did it. Surprising that he’s not in shackles already. Or maybe—he raises his arms and peers down. No clinking of chains, no starmetal cuffs on his wrists.

Stone and mortar, a wide, warped glass window through which a warm sun shines. The castle. So he’s in the castle and there’s no screaming or flames or sounds of battle, which means nobody’s fighting, which means the Omnium never made it here. He did manage kill it, he and what soldiers were left and…

_Jack._

Gabriel struggles upright. It takes a couple of failures—his muscles are tired and sore, spent from using so much magic during the battle. But Jack was exhausted too and Gabriel needs to be sure he’s okay, be sure he’s—

Lying in the next bed over. That makes things easier. Still asleep, and Gabriel swings his feet out, readies himself, and rises. The sheet falls away. Ah. Well, at least they had the decency to give him underclothes. He totters over to the next bed and sits on it, grabbing Jack’s shoulder and shaking. “Hey.”

Jack wakes reluctantly, rubbing his eyes with a hand still clumsy from sleep. “Mm.”

Gabriel grins. “Afternoon, you lazy asshole.”

“Fuck off,” Jack mumbles. “Oh. Hey, you’re okay.”

“Kinda. Fucking tired.”

“No kidding.” Jack rests his hand over Gabriel’s, which still grasps his shoulder. “I could barely stand after the Omnium went down.”

Gabriel chuckles. “Better than passing the fuck out like some of us.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. Had to carry your heavy ass until the cavalry came out to meet—“

“You _carried me?”_

“Yeah, me and another guy.”

Gabriel gazes down at him. “Jack, you really…”

Jack looks up, his face softening. Attractive fucking face, like always.

“…carried me halfway to Rhine like a fucking dumbass when there were a hundred other people who would have done it for you?” Gabriel continues with a grin. “You said you could barely—“

“I was worried!” Jack retorts, but he’s grinning back. “After the—the shit you pulled—“

“I know, I know. Sorry.” Gabriel opens his hand, then closes it again. “I think I’m okay, I don’t… _feel_ any different.”

Jack’s chest rises as he inhales, then lets out a long sigh. “Gods damn it, Gabe,” he says softly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Gabriel stares down at him. Of all people he thought—he thought _Jack_ would be on his side— “I had to,” he blurts out. “The Omnium was gonna disintegrate us, it was gonna march on Rhine.”

“The Council’s gonna be pissed,” Jack mutters, rubbing his eyes. _“Really_ pissed. You know it’s punishable by execution."

“There was no other choice, everyone we’ve got left is still afield, Rhine would have fallen—“

“We damaged the Omnium, Gabe, we cut down a _lot_ of Omnics, it wasn’t at full power—“

“I couldn’t take the risk!” Gabriel flings a hand out. “If it just marched on ahead—“

“It could have marched on ahead with _your soul_ powering it! A _true_ soul! Who knows what in the hells it would have—“ But Jack breaks off, the tension draining out of him. “Never mind. No use talking about would-have-beens. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Gabriel sits there, shivering a little in the cool air. His hand has tightened on Jack’s shoulder and Jack’s hand has tightened over his own; but together they relax.

“I know it was a risk,” Gabriel says quietly. “But I thought…I thought I could do it. We could do it.”

“Well, I guess we _did_ do it.” Jack musters a tired smile.

“Does anyone else know?” Gabriel asks. “What I did? Do the soldiers know?”

“Doubt it. They might have suspicions, but from the outside it sort of looked like you summoned up the biggest fire elemental I’ve ever seen by a long damn shot. Only thing is no one summons that fast and that big.”

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. “Fire elemental?”

“Yeah, kind of. Almost person-shaped, tall as the Omnium. Body like an explosion that just…kept going.”

“Huh.” Gabriel curls his bare toes on the stone. "Hey, ah...thanks for bringing me back."

Jack blushes instantly, which Gabriel always makes fun of him for but not now. "Yeah. Uh, yeah, no problem."

Gabriel hesitates a second and peers down the row of infirmary beds trying to see if anyone's spying on them, then he decides he doesn't give a shit and leans down to kiss Jack.

It's not the best kiss he's ever given—Jack either, probably, because they're both barely on this side of wakefulness with their drained bodies trying to drag them back under. But it's still nice and when he sits back up again Jack struggles to push himself upright so that should make things a little easier—

"Reyes! Morrison!"

He knows that voice.

One of many, this one gruff but amiable. The Council approaches, strolling between the two rows of beds, today wearing a suit in drab dark blue cut close to their androgynous figure. Gabriel realizes he himself is still mostly naked and scrambles for clothes, discovers a shirt and a pair of trousers beside the bed. He jams himself into them as quick as he can. "Uh—greetings. My lords."

"No need for such haste, Gabriel." A lighter voice, nominally female, amused. "It's nothing we haven't seen before."

Gabriel straightens, shoving the trailing hem of the shirt into his waistband. "Right," he mutters.

Hard to look them in the face but he's already been disrespectful enough, so he steels himself and makes the effort. The same as always, their average, unremarkable body topped by an indistinct space in which swirls something like a mirror, the reflection soft and distorted. Not truly a reflection. Gabriel has tried to catch the faces in it these past months but they pass in and out of each other too smoothly; a predominance of dark hair, he thinks, is the only detail he'd put any money on. The voices, he's tried those too, recognizes seven or so.

There are twelve of them, and their names are recorded, twelve lords serving the crown for over a hundred years now. And in that time, much of what was known of them has faded away. 

"Please, sit down." The Council wave a gloved hand. "You must be tired."

No fucking kidding. He sits. To his right Jack finishes dressing himself under the covers.

"The last Omnium is dead." A voice like a statesman. "We watched you from afar. Truly, we did not think it could be done. Even with the two of you, our very best. Yes." A new voice. "Master Reyes. Your performance was extraordinary." A _really_ new voice. He hasn't heard her before, and she's displeased. "Quite an impressive _elemental_ you summoned."

Gabriel's heart thuds in his chest, painful like a twisting knife. "Yeah, I just, ah...put everything I had into it."

A hollow laugh. "Indeed, Master Reyes. And Jack." The lighter voice again. "Holding that shield by yourself. Absolutely magnificent."

"Thank you, my lords."

"There is, alas, one more favor we must ask of you." The woman's voice goes somber. Gabriel tips his head back, letting out a long breath. Of course it's not over. It’s never over.

"Your presences are both required...at the celebratory feast in the grand hall tonight. In fact, in about twenty minutes.” The swirling mirror glints as the woman's voice assumes its good humor again. "The queen is designating Overwatch as an _official_ auxiliary battalion to the army! And for the position of commander...well, who better than the hero of Crusader's Ford?"

Gabriel blinks. Commander of a whole battalion? He likes to lead, but this...

"Not to mention I hear the food's supposed to be excellent." A low, wry voice. "Wouldn't miss out on it, my boys. We've asked the tailors to bring you something decent to wear, should be up shortly." A jovial wave. "We shall see you tonight! And of course, thank you for killing that bloody thing. The entire kingdom owes you."

Then they're gone, retreating the way they came with a spring in their step.

Jack slaps Gabriel's ass, which, to be fair, is arm level for him at the moment. "You're gonna be a commander!"

"Huh." Gabriel stares at his hands, his fingers casting shadows in the sunset. "I never thought...how will I know what to do?"

"Gabe, you've got a better tactical mind than anyone I've ever met in my life. And the soldiers love you. You'll do just fine." He grins. "Gods, I'm so excited. This is gonna be perfect."

Gabriel chuckles. "Sure you won't feel weird taking orders from me?"

"No way. I already trust you to tell me what to do on the battlefield, nothing's gonna change."

"Yeah, well...I might ask for your help now and then," he mutters.

"Hey, you got it. You're gonna do great things with Overwatch, Gabe. I know it."

——

They stagger down to the great hall together, Jack in blue and silver, Gabriel in black and gold. The damn trousers are too tight around the waist, and he fully intends to undo the first button as soon as he starts eating.

They sneak in a side door but are noticed almost instantly and then the applause starts and Jack turns bright red again while Gabriel just tries to smile and pretend he's comfortable receiving an entire great hall's worth of attention. Everybody is on their feet, clapping and whistling. He manages to keep it up for a good ten seconds before he's grabbing Jack's hand and whispering, "Come on, let's get some food."

They navigate flowing tails and enormous dresses and endless declarations of gratitude but Gabriel has spotted Ana and the rest of their friends across the room and strides toward her without slowing, Jack in tow. Fareeha is the welcoming party, leaping out of her chair and running over to hug him around the middle with a shout of “Uncle Gabe!” He picks her up and carries her back with her legs clamped around his waist.

“Gabriel!” Reinhardt tries to rise and nearly tips the table over.

“No need to get up,” Gabriel says hastily, waving to Liao and Torbjörn. “I’m staying at least through dessert.”

“Not here you’re not,” Ana says, nodding at a spot behind him. “You’re sitting with the queen tonight.”

Gabriel rotates. Fareeha points helpfully at the two empty spots on the central table, at the queen’s right hand.

Ah.

Gabriel sets Fareeha down. “I’ll…see you all later then.”

He’s never been within fifty feet of the queen so it's very fucking strange to see her wizened face smiling at him from twenty inches away. As soon as he settles in she pats his arm and thanks him for saving the kingdom. Gabriel stammers out an “It was my privilege, Your Majesty,” and then shoves a piece of bread in his mouth before he can ruin it by saying something stupid.

The crown prince and his wife are sitting across from them, and General Lacroix and his wife Amélie further down. High fucking company. Gabriel has worked with the general, of course—the man knows everything from foot soldiers to siege engines, just not mages—but he’s the only familiar face. Everyone there outranks him by about a thousand titles. He groans internally. Wouldn’t have killed the damn Omnium if he knew he’d have to rub elbows with this kind of crowd.

The main problem is that everyone, of course, wants to hear how they did it. Gabriel hates lying but would prefer not to be executed so he tells them it's all kind of a blur and he just threw everything he had at the Omnium with Jack right there with him. They would prefer an exciting tale of adventure, he senses, but they accept his story with appropriate awe.

Jack doesn’t react the same way. Jack shifts, flattens his hands, stares at the tablecloth.

_You shouldn’t have done that._

Well, it’s done, and the Omnium’s dead. The risk paid off. It’s behind them now.

Jack’s mood improves as the evening goes on and the dinner courses keep coming. The food is excellent, and there’s a group of musicians in the corner playing pavanes and galliards and minuets and Gabriel might invite Jack to dance if he’d had a little more wine. The rest of their friends remain at the other table, although Fareeha breaks away from her mother and runs over to hug him again as the third course is being cleared away. Gabriel falls all over himself apologizing to the queen, but she waves it off and asks Fareeha’s name and how old she is.

After dessert, at last, there’s a drum roll from the band and the room goes quiet. This is it. Jack grabs Gabriel’s hand beneath the tablecloth. Commander of his own battalion. At last.

General Lacroix rises from his seat and turns to address the room. “My friends! We gather tonight to celebrate the felling of the last Omnium!”

Wild cheers go up; hats are thrown. The general waves to quiet them. “Yes! A most joyous occasion, indeed. But I feel that I must ask of you a moment of reflection on the thousands lost in the fighting. Please.” He gestures.

Guests bow their heads, and Gabriel follows suit. Thousands. Yes, he knows. Knows how many thousands. He stares at his knees, the black cloth finely embroidered with a pattern of flames. If only he’d been smarter. Planned better. Then maybe—

“But we are safe now!” General Lacroix calls out. “Because the final Omnium was killed by a single company of soldiers and just _two_ mages!” He flings a hand out.

Gabriel doesn’t even think to rise until Jack kicks his shin. The applause is thunderous and stifling, and he’s glad when the general calms the room again so that he can sit back down.

“As you all know, Overwatch has been instrumental in our defeat of the Omnia,” Lacroix continues. “We thought the blasted things unbeatable, until Overwatch proved us wrong. The tactical precision with which they deployed their magic…I’ve never seen anything like it. The fact is, we would not have won this war without them. And as such, I’ve decided to name them an official branch of the Royaume military, with our great kingdom’s full support.”

More cheering. Gabriel begins to relax a little and even finds a smile rising to his face. Overwatch, _his_ Overwatch. Official now. They’ll have resources, information, connections. And there’s so much good to be done.

“And to lead it.” The general turns and grins at the two of them. “The man who has been a tireless defender of innocents across the continent, who is admired by every soldier in our army, whose focus and quick thinking saved hundreds of lives just last night…”

Jack grins at him and flashes a thumbs-up under the table. Right. He won’t be doing this alone. He’ll have friends, Ana and Reinhardt and Liao and Torbjörn, and he’ll have—

“Jack Morrison!”

Gabriel blinks.

His face is stone, at least, he can feel that, how his lips remain closed and unmoving, his brow smooth and unperturbed. He stares at the crown prince’s chest, because the crown prince is on his feet, as is everyone else in the great hall. Almost everyone.

Jack recovers quickly, and he puts on a smile, rising to acknowledge the honor. As he stands he grasps Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezes like he’s in a stormy sea, about to float away.

General Lacroix is still talking. Then Jack is. Gabriel can’t hear them. His head is full of a rushing sound like flames. Overwatch is official. Celebrated.

But it’s no longer his.

What happened?

“Come.”

Someone’s saying that. Gabriel blinks slowly at the empty plates in front of him, the wine glass empty but for a few glimmering red droplets stuck to the sides.

_“Come.”_

Hissed in his ear. Gabriel jumps and looks around. The guests are sitting and talking again, except for those couples dancing to the band’s lively gigue. Jack is to his right, staring at him.

 _“Now,_ Reyes.”

The Council is to his left. Gabriel starts. Strange to see that shifting mirror up close. A silver mist drifts from the edges.

He rises and follows.

They pass the table where his friends all sit. Reinhardt and Liao are laughing but Ana catches his gaze and holds it, stroking Fareeha’s hair absently. She and her eagle eyes know something’s wrong.

But the Council moves past them so Gabriel does too, his legs shaking a little, still weak from the battle. Through a side door—the Council pushes it shut, and the chatter of the guests, the sweet melody of the fiddle, the clapping of the dance all fade out. A relief to his exhausted mind.

“I imagine you’re wondering why we gave the position to Morrison.” Brusque and annoyed.

“I killed the Omnium,” Gabriel says, hardly aware of the words coming out of his mouth. “I killed the Omnium! I’ve made the battle plans for almost every engagement we had, I was the one—“

“Did you think we’d hand over control of the most powerful group of mages this kingdom’s ever seen to a practitioner of _soul magic?”_ the Council hisses.

Gabriel flinches as if struck. So they know. They knew all along. “H-how—“

“We told you, we watched from afar. That was no _fire elemental._ ” A disgusted wave of one gloved hand. “No one summons that much power that quickly without burning themselves as fuel. The Omnia cores were forged to imprison souls! It could have taken yours! Had a _human_ soul to power it, rather than an artificial one! It wouldn’t have been just Royaume that fell, Hanamura would have followed. In a matter of _days_.”

“We were _losing._ The fucking Omnium was going to kill us all—“

“So you’re reckless as well!”

_“Nothing happened!”_

_“Nothing?”_ The Council is close now, and Gabriel feels almost as if he could fall into that bottomless, shifting mirror and never find a way out. “Did it not try to steal you? I assume you opened up your soul and exposed yourself. One must, to draw that kind of power. Did it not try to infiltrate you? To absorb you into itself?”

“Yes, but it failed—“

“Because of _Morrison!”_ The mirror flashes. “A stroke of _luck_. We should have you executed. That would be _right._ That would make this entire kingdom _safer.”_

Gabriel takes a step back and finds the wall right there, the stone chilling him through his jacket. “I won’t—I can protect people. I want to protect people.”

“Yes. We know. It’s the only reason you’re still alive right now.”

The Council stills for a second, then the rage leaves their posture. A new, more relaxed voice. “In fact, we’re promoting you too. Would you believe that, Gabriel? Just not to command of Overwatch.” They gesture and turn, striding down the hall.

Gabriel, left with no choice, follows.

He’s familiar with a few areas of the castle—the barracks, the mess hall, how to get to the war room. But not here. The Council leads him down a maze of corridors that get progressively colder and less well lit. He tries to keep track, but can hold on to no more than a general idea of where they are. At last they stop in front of what looks like a narrow tower.

“Come,” they say, and open the door.

The staircase descends in a tight spiral. On and on. No sound but the whisper of torch-flames, the heavy footsteps of the Council, the quiet scratching of his own shoes. A few of the torches have gone out, and Gabriel passes through some sections in complete darkness. Yet there are more stairs beyond him. How far down do they reach?

“Where are we going?” he tries.

The mirror swirls. “We’re almost there.”

And they’re right. Another dozen steps and Gabriel finds the bottom, the Council waiting in front of another door. It’s cold down here, deep in the earth; Gabriel hugs himself. “Why did you bring me here?”

The Council opens the door and goes through. Gabriel follows.

A chamber as big as a meeting room, not even. The torches along the walls don’t emit quite enough light to reach the middle of the room, so he doesn’t immediately see what’s at the back, the wide, deep alcove and inside—

A _mass_ of darkness, not simply a shadow but an entity itself, as he discovers when it begins to move. The thing uncurls, and inside the shifting black cracks open one silver eye.

“Gabriel,” it sighs.

He flinches. The voice was—it was out loud, he’s sure of it, but _also_ in his head, an echo with a split-second’s delay.

The thing straightens, flattening its feet on the floor of the alcove (clawed feet, like some kind of beast). It’s half again as tall as he is, in basic form like a human, although its arms trail down past its knees and it’s got horns and…Gabriel squints at it. The substance of its body is inky and near impenetrable, but he thinks it has a mane and a snout. Its silver eyes fix on him. “I’m pleased to meet you at last.”

“What in hells are you?” he snaps.

It leans on the wall of the alcove and tilts its head. Its lips part to reveal gleaming black teeth. “Nobody important. A trader, I suppose. I make deals.”

Gabriel snorts. “Well, I’m sure as fuck not dealing with you.”

“Yes, you are,” the Council says behind him, their voice iron. “We won’t have you pulling a fucking stunt like that one again.”

“It was impressive. I liked it,” the creature says. “Dangerous, though. How would you like to be able to control that magic a little better?”

“I don’t want to control it!” Gabriel retaliates. “I never want to use it again! I only did it because I was out of options!”

“Shame.” The creature shrugs. “You’re talented. Was that your first time?”

“No,” he mutters.

“Your second or third?”

“Second,” Gabriel admits.

“See? Talented. Few can manifest that level of power so early, let alone direct it.” The creature considers him. “Think of the things you could do with that kind of power.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break. I don’t want to take over the world or—“

“Of course not. Who would want that? So much responsibility.” A laugh like a rapping on an empty tin cup. “But, well. You know how many died in this war.”

Fuck. Gabriel rubs his forehead and doesn’t reply.

“It’ll be a good deal, I promise. I won’t take much.”

_“Take?”_

“Well, it’s a _deal,_ isn’t it?”

“Do it, Gabriel,” the Council says sharply. “Accept and you get your own unit. Your other choice is the headsman’s block.”

He thinks briefly of running, because this place, the alcove with runic inscriptions carved deep into the edges, the inscrutable creature within—what _is_ it? He tries to interpret what the dark shows him. Blackness, eddies of movement, and a sort of hazy aura…reminds him of something—

_“Gabriel.”_

The Council. There is no running. If he wants to live, he accepts the deal. And the thing was right.

_You know how many died in this war._

“What will you take?” he asks.

“Not much,” the creature says, with insouciance. “Just a little bit of flesh.”

_“What?”_

“Not an arm or a leg or anything like that. You’ll still be an entire person. I promise.”

“Are you kidding me?”

_“Gabriel!”_

He grimaces. “Would you take anything else?”

“I’m sorry. I collect flesh. That’s the only exchange I’ll accept.”

From the corner of his eye the silver scintillation of the Council comes closer. This or the headsman’s block. Right. “Fine,” Gabriel says. “Do it.”

The runes flare to life—not all but every fourth one, glowing white around the threshold to the alcove as the creature reaches out its deformed hand.

Gabriel’s legs go weak and he staggers.

There’s something…being _carved_ out of him. He tries to keep his feet beneath him but collapses to his knees, palms flat on the freezing floor. _Stop,_ he wants to say, but there’s no breath in his chest and his throat is tight and closed. His skin looks the same, brown and whole, bruised from battle. But there’s something being taken. Something missing.

Then the empty space fills with fire.

It burns away the cold of the buried room and carries him to his feet. He feels it in every part of him, on his tongue, behind his eyes, in his chest and down to his fingertips. And at the core of it the ghost of the sensation he felt at Crusader’s Ford: the vulnerability, the dizzying sense of exposure. A draft chasing through his body.

There’s a crack in him and his soul is spilling through.

Gabriel presses a hand to his chest as if that would plug the leak. “Wait,” he tries. “I can’t—how do I stop this?”

The creature smiles, showing its teeth. “That’s for you to figure out.”

“Go back to sleep,” the Council tells it. “We’re finished here.”

They go to the door and hold it open. Gabriel is glad to leave the creature; he walks—flows, drifts, his body is so strange now—out to the staircase again. The Council closes the door behind him and starts climbing. “There. Shouldn’t run the risk of having someone else infiltrate you now.”

“What did it do to me?” Gabriel breathes.

“Made you safer. When you use soul magic again, you won’t be exposed like you were at Crusader’s Ford.” The Council gestures. “Come on. You need to go pack your things.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re leaving tonight. We’ve already established a base for you and your unit.”

“I don’t want to leave tonight, I’ve barely had a chance—“

The Council rounds on him, but their rage evaporates and a diplomatic exasperation replaces it. “Let’s be clear. You have committed crimes of the highest order and placed all of Royaume at risk with your hubris. Every second you continue breathing is a gift for which you should be on your _knees_ thanking us. So when we tell you that you are leaving tonight to take command of your own unit, you say ‘yes, my lords’ and go _pack your things._ Is that clear?”

Gabriel stares at them, unmoving. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to turn Overwatch into a force for good, to save people and change things for the better, and to do it all with Jack right next to him—

“Yes, my lords,” he murmurs.

But he decided to use soul magic so now he can’t do any of that.

“Good. Now get to the barracks. I’ll meet you at the gates.”

The return journey seems shorter than the way down, although it may be just because he’s getting used to the feel of his new body, how he seems filled with little bubbles of air. “What was that thing?” he asks, as the top comes into view.

Silence for a moment. Then the light, gentle voice. “A beast. We trapped it long ago.”

“Why didn’t you just kill it?” he murmurs.

“We couldn’t.” They push the door open and exit into the hall. “Go left and you should be able to find your way to the barracks. We’ll see you at the gates. Do try and be quick.”

As Gabriel goes he reaches up to touch his his cheeks and lips, wondering if anyone can tell what’s happened. If it shows in his face, the million pinpoints of flame burning inside him. Can they see? Is there a flicker behind his eyes, clouded and gleaming through the vitreous humor?

The sounds of the party still echo through the halls. Can he go there? Can he say goodbye to Jack, at least? But then Jack might know.

Gabriel has figured out where he is by now, and he heads for the barracks.

His own cot is near the front. Not much in the way of belongings, so he opens up his pack and starts throwing things in. His leather armor—that he folds carefully along the breaks between the plates. It’s served him well over the years. His blade Hellfire, scooped up from the mud at Crusader’s Ford and thoughtfully cleaned. Some clothing, a couple of flasks.

And one more thing.

When they were still studying together at the guild in Eichenwalde, he and Jack would head to the lakeshore some afternoons where it was much harder for Gabriel to accidentally set things on fire while he was practicing. So he would create great plumes of flame across the water while Jack sat hunched over the sand, working intently. Gabriel asked him a few times what he was doing but the only answer he ever got was _it’s a surprise._

And then one day—months in—Jack came over and handed him something without a word. It was a knife, Gabriel discovered; a short, heavy knife made completely of pure, transparent glass.

 _I made it out of sand,_ Jack told him, with an excited grin. _It’s really sturdy. It’ll never dull or break._

Gabriel looked it over with appropriate admiration and then tried to give it back. Jack wouldn’t take it. _It’s my first one,_ he said. _I have to give it away for good luck._

It rests solid and cool in his hand now, sheathed, the leather-wrapped hilt worn with use. The blade is sharp as anything and has saved his life a dozen times. Gabriel tucks it into his belt, picks up his pack, and straightens—

“Gabe! There you are.”

Oh no.

He whirls and there’s Jack, approaching down the row of cots. “Where in hells did you go? The Council led you off and then—“

“I have to leave,” Gabriel mutters. “Jack, I—I’m leaving tonight. I can’t stay.”

Jack’s face crumbles, and Gabriel instinctively wants to go comfort him but can’t, not now. “What—what are you talking about? You can’t leave, we just won! Overwatch is official now! This is what we both wanted!”

“I know. It’s not that—“

“Is it the promotion?” Jack falters a little. “I—Gabe, I swear I didn’t know they were gonna do that, I don’t know why—“

“They saw me, Jack,” Gabriel interrupts. “What I did in Rhine. That’s why the Council gave the promotion to you.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair—“

But Gabriel can’t stand the uncertainty anymore and without thinking he closes the distance between them, steps forward and hugs Jack tight.

Jack cuts himself off and returns the embrace instantly. Thank the gods. Not so different now, after all. “Gabe—what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel whispers into Jack’s shoulder. “The Council said they’re giving me my own unit, but—Jack, something happened tonight, they did something to me.”

“What? What did they do?”

“They—it’s gonna sound crazy, but there’s this… _thing_ below the castle—“

Then the door bangs open and Gabriel jumps, breaking the embrace.

The Council stands there in the doorway. “Reyes. You were taking a while. Are you packed?” They gesture. “Let’s go.”

Gabriel picks up his pack and slings it over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Jack,” he says quietly. “Tell Ana and the others I’m thinking of them. Tell Fareeha I’ll miss her very much.”

“Gabe, what is going on?” Jack turns to the Council. “Where are you taking him?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. His unit is technically under your jurisdiction. Come on, the driver is waiting.”

They turn and start walking. Gabriel follows, hearing Jack call his name one last time.

He keeps his mouth shut. Better not to make it any worse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably has typos but I'm chest-deep in a Witcher 2 fanfiction right now so I just needed to get this one out and be done with it. On a related note, I'm chest-deep in a Witcher 2 fanfiction right now so next chapter gonna be a while too sorry y'all. Thanks for stickin with me

The base is a house. A nice house, granted, tucked away deep in the woods on an overgrown estate of twenty acres at least. The cart drops them off in the early afternoon, the driver urging the horses up the road, spiky green weeds poking up through the dry dirt. On either side the grass is waist-high.

“The estate has been abandoned for decades.” The Council heaves a resigned sigh. “The heirs died foolish deaths while they were young and childless. Worthless, both of them.”

The manor approaches, a building in white stone watched over by a wild garden. Hedges bristle throughout it, profusions of spiny branches spilling out into flower beds long barren. Fruit trees twist into the air, choked in some places by creeping vines, pale-green tendrils squeezing the vitality out of the shaggy-barked branches. The road ends in a round that circles a fountain filled with an algae sludge; the centerpiece is a huntress in blackened bronze, an owl perched upon her raised arm.

At last the cart slows to a stop. The Council climbs off the back, Gabriel just behind.

They unlock the door, shoving against the rusted hinges until it squeals open. Gabriel covers his nose and mouth as he enters. The place is covered in dust. Down the hall vines have snuck in where the windows weren’t all the way shut, weaving spiderwebs of green on the walls. Yet it was elegant once; a tarnished mirror as wide as he is tall faces him across the atrium. To either side attend two empty suits of armor, each emblazoned with the now-defunct family’s crest. A bow and arrow with moon and stars above. Well, that explains the huntress outside.

“Make yourself at home,” the Council says. “We’ve arranged for deliveries of food and other necessities each week. There should still be a scryer on the second floor. Maintain it; we will use it to contact you.”

“So what’s this all about?” Gabriel asks. “What am I doing out here?”

“Yes. You and the people we assign to you will be performing tasks of a…discreet nature.”

Ah. “You want me running covert missions.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel grimaces. “You said we’re part of Overwatch?”

“You have access to their resources, yes. Do not expect to work with them directly often if at all.”

Great. “Okay, so what’s our first move?”

“The Deadlock gang,” the Council says. “With the crisis over, we expect them to grow more aggressive in an effort to take as much as they can before things stabilize. Your objective is to exterminate them.”

He snorts. “Just skipping the trials and judgements then, huh?”

“Their guilt is not in question. You need to stamp them out. They will make recovery efforts much, much harder. They already are, in fact.”

The Council’s right about that much. Every third supply caravan headed to the southwestern region of the kingdom gets hit. General Lacroix found it extremely frustrating. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Spare no one and hold nothing back. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

_“Reyes.”_

“I said yeah. Not the first time we’ve crossed paths.” The fifth Omnium, Gabriel remembers it well. The army’s supplies were running low and new ones weren’t coming in so he took Ana and Liao to see what was going on. It was Deadlock, of course.

They escorted the next caravan. Deadlock attacked. A group of bandits unprepared for three mages. No one survived.

“Report back to me when you’re finished,” the Council says. “And Reyes—we expect results. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lords,” he murmurs.

“Good. I’ll leave one of the horses and a sum of coin. Good luck.”

Then they’re gone, the door grinding shut behind them.

Gabriel gazes into the mirror. The surface is webbed with brown tarnish. Through the smears his reflection watches him, no different than it was a week ago.

All right. Time to go find Deadlock and kill them all.

——

The horse is a young, dark brown mare whom he names Blossom because of the flower-shaped blaze of white on her forehead. He thinks she likes the name. It’s a long journey southwest to Deadlock territory, and Gabriel goes with moderate haste. He’s seen damn near all there is to see of Royaume these past few years; no need to stop and smell the flowers.

The tension the Council’s pointed order left in him drains away as he rides. The sun is shining and people are out in the early autumn warmth, working the fields. Amazing, really. Before the last Omnium fell everybody would have been indoors hiding. If it weren’t for the charred remnants of crops, the torn-up earth, the smashed-in houses, he might almost forget an Omnium came through here just a few months ago. Towns are livelier, too. Everybody seems to be in a good mood. Strangers buy him drinks and they don’t even know who he is. (That much he conceals. Rather not spend all his evenings recounting war stories. Living through them once was more than enough.)

One thing is different from before: no more Omnics.

They can’t all be destroyed. The Omnia didn’t hit every single town in the kingdom; some of the Omnics must have been spared the overpowering synchronization signal, the inescapable pull that drew any artificial soul within range into the hivemind. So there must be some Omnics left. Except Gabriel doesn’t see any.

It’s possible they were killed. He wouldn’t be surprised if these people knew to destroy the core to finish the job. It’s also possible they fled. If they were clever enough, if their manmade souls had enough foresight, enough mistrust to read the winds and see what humans would think of them after all this.

Gabriel rides on.

The air gets hotter, the ground drier. Different crops here, yellow and low to the ground, and the irrigation canals criss-cross acres and acres of fields all the way up to the river’s edge in the distance. Gabriel sighs and wishes he had colors in his wardrobe other than black or hues nearly indistinguishable. At least he’s arrived.

There are a couple of ways he could go about this. Espionage and trap-setting is one—gathering informants, choosing his targets carefully. Not fast, but nice and quiet and they’d never see him coming.

Or he could beat up some gang members for information and then kick down the front door. That one sounds a lot faster.

At last he finds a town where the mood isn’t so celebratory. People look tired still, glancing at each other in the streets with some shared knowledge that he, a newcomer, isn’t privy to. Not yet.

Gabriel ties Blossom up in front of the tavern and then stretches so hard he almost falls over. Blossom nickers at him in what he’d like to think is a concerned fashion. Gabriel groans and lifts Hellfire from the saddlebags, buckling it around his back. Riding for days on end is hard on his body. Especially his ass. He tries to shake himself out as he walks up to the tavern. Good to limber up before a fight, especially since he’s not planning to use magic. Doesn’t want to tip his hand too early.

He pushes the door open.

There’s a burst of coarse laughter from the center of the room where a half-dozen rough-looking men and women sit, quaffing mugs of ale and smaller cups of what might be liquor. There are a few more people huddled around the edges of the room, not joining in. As expected. One can always find degenerates spending their ill-gotten money on spirits. “Hey,” Gabriel calls to them.

It takes a moment, but eventually they realize the new guy is talking to them, and he gathers their stares like a flame gathers moths. Half of them are visibly armed; the rest might have knives or saps. Gabriel takes a quick glance around the room. Plenty of empty tables and chairs.

“Where’s your boss?” he asks. “Wanna talk to ‘em.”

"Who the fuck're you?" one of them asks in a thick drawl.

He's supposed to kill them all, yeah. But that's not really the way he works, or not the way he'd like to work. "Just a guy looking to talk. More specifically, to your boss. Let me know where they are and I'll be on my way."

The woman snorts. "Why the fuck d'you think we'd tell you that?"

"Because I need the information, and I'm going to get it one way or another," he tells her evenly.

She rises, grasping the handle of the axe at her belt. "That a fuckin' threat?"

"Not really. Not if you’ll just talk to me.”

Her axe is drawn. A couple of others follow her example, but not all. Good. Gabriel raises his hands. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but picking a fight with a guy who walks around with a sword on his back isn't usually a great idea."

"There's six of us, asshole." She grins. "We'll take that sword off your corpse."

Okay. Well, he tried.

Hellfire is in his hands and he sidesteps in between the empty tables for cover. They can't bracket him this way. Tavern's not an ideal place for a greatsword but that should be offset by how he has extensive combat experience and they have extensive experience in shaking their weapons at people with no intention of fighting back.

The leader of the pack seems to have lost her nerve already; Gabriel was hoping she'd charge him but no such luck. Instead they spread out, surrounding him. Fine.

The one to his back left goes in first, between two tables. Gabriel drags a chair out with his foot and knocks the man off-balance, throwing a savage elbow into his nose when he stumbles. The woman and another man are coming up now from two directions so Gabriel grabs the first one who gets there and heaves them into the other and they're tangled up, bent over a wayward chair.

_Spare no one._

He flips his grip and Hellfire's deadly point stabs through the man's knee and straight into the woman's, provoking a pair of screams. That's two taken care of. Gabriel yanks the blade out. The rest circle, hesitant. The man with the bloodied nose is back up. The four glance at each other. Would be more advantageous to initiate on them right now but that's not how this goes. He wants to give them a way out.

They attack together (almost), two axes, a knife, and a sap. One scrambles over a table so Gabriel grabs the edge and flips it, gooses it with a little magic because the damn thing's heavy, and the man goes over with a squawk. Two come down the same lane between tables—the tactician in him cringes internally—so he kicks the one in front in the stomach and she collides with her partner behind her. The last one—

Gabriel raises a parry, and the man's axe-hilt slams into the strong of his blade. Little time. Gabriel shoves against the axe, steps into it, and the man stumbles.

Gabriel kills him.

It’s not really intentional. He just drives down with the blade-edge and it cleaves the man’s neck open. He clears the blade, his shoulders tightening, and spins in time to smack the woman’s axe down and lash the back of his hand across her jaw. Then he kills her too while she’s still dazed.

The one beneath the flipped table has crawled out and is making another attempt. Gabriel drops his sword, takes the sap-blow on his forearm, grabs the guy by the collar, and punches him in the jaw.

Gabriel lets him go, his unconscious body crumpling on the floor. Makes a count. Two more dead. Two with crippled legs, each dragging themselves away from him.

And the last one, who didn’t attack with the final wave, standing there trembling with knife in hand. A damn tanner’s knife.

Gabriel picks up his sword and sheathes it, strides forward, stepping over a corpse, and belts the guy in the mouth. The man yells and drops the knife, clutching his jaw. Gabriel grabs his shirt and heaves him toward the door. “Come on. We’re gonna have a conversation.”

He hauls the guy out of the tavern. The few patrons there are plastered against the walls; the barkeep is nowhere to be seen. Best to let them get back to it. Behind the building there’s a wide field of tall yellow grass. Nice and private. He wades in accompanied by a whispered ostinato of “please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.”

It’s annoying. Gabriel sighs. “I told you, all I want to do is talk.” He throws the man down, dry grass crushed beneath him. “What’s your name”

The man peers up, arms raised as if expecting a blow. “M—Mikel.”

“Okay. Mikel. Your boss. Where can I find them?”

“There’s a town the Omnics came through, they say that’s where he lives—“

“Where?”

“Plans Albea. Straight shot south from Mariposa. That’s all I know, I swear. Please don’t kill me.”

“Hm.” Gabriel folds his arms. “You know any honest trades?”

Mikel gazes up, quiet; then he starts to lower his hands. “Uh—tanning. That’s what I did before the Omnics destroyed my village.”

“Well, the Omnics are dead, Mikel. Time to take up tanning again and stop stealing other people’s shit.”

“Right! I’m sorry, sir!” He clambers to his feet. “Thank you, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabriel waves a hand. “Now get out of here. And if I find out you’ve taken up banditry again, I’ll be back. And our next conversation won’t be so harmless.”

“Of course! I’m sorry!” Mikel turns and starts sprinting through the grass. Gabriel watches him go. South of Mariposa, which is another two or three days’ ride west of here.

He heaves a sigh. His ass is going to be killing him after all this.

———

There’s light from the abandoned town.

Gabriel yanks the knot tight, securing Blossom to the spiny tree that squats a good hundred yards from the weed-grown road. Deadlock will have no qualms about killing a horse. He walks through the dark, through the grass until he hits the road and turns, boots scraping in the dry dirt. How many will be there? If the guy lives in an entire gods-damned town, he plainly isn’t alone. And how good, is his next question. The six he took down a couple of days ago were the most amateur of amateurs.

The Deadlock boss probably doesn’t have much patience for people like that.

The stealth approach this time. Gabriel would rather keep his head.

The watch are terribly inattentive—a good sign—and they don’t look up from their card game until he’s almost upon them. A small campfire crackles beside a crate, their makeshift card table. The two men leap to their feet, each drawing a shoddy blade. “Who in hells are you?” the first one barks.

“Is your boss here?” Gabriel asks.

The man narrows his eyes. “He don’t take no visitors in the middle of the gods-damn night.”

“It’s him.” The second watchman. “Griff, it’s him.”

So one of these assholes he let off sent a warning. Fine. Gabriel’s already confirmed his target is here.

Hellfire will be too slow to draw so the glass knife comes out instead, and he hacks it into the second man’s throat while he grabs the first one’s in a hard choke. But that shoddy blade is still coming at him so he yanks the knife out and swings it down, knocking the weapon aside. The second guard is already listing, groping at his slit-open throat. Gabriel drags his opponent down by his neck and drives a knee into his middle.

That knocks the fight out of him a bit, and as he wheezes Gabriel punches him in the face once, twice, three times.

Away from the fire, the guard moving dazedly as Gabriel drags him into the grass so they won’t be seen. Then he hurls the man down, planting a boot on his chest and crouching. “Where’s your boss?”

“Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—“

They’re always so concerned with that. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“The chapel! He sleeps in the chapel! Please don’t kill me—“

Gabriel slits his throat too and rises. He goes to the fire and drags the other corpse away from the aura of light. Too risky leaving them alive. He’s one person against a town full of gang members. Can’t afford for even one thing to go wrong.

He passes through the gate and ducks off the main road quickly, slipping into the disorderly array of houses that sprawl from the street. The Omnics really did a number on this place—smashed windows, singe marks, doors hanging from hinges. The chapel isn't hard to spot once he gets a clear line of sight; the steeple is a black silhouette that blocks out the stars. Gabriel goes with caution. Ideally he'll assassinate the Deadlock boss first and then deal with everybody else.

Torches burn at the chapel's front door, and two guards attend it. Gabriel curses in his head and edges back along the wall. Why couldn't they all have just been asleep? Well, there's gotta be a back door somewhere. He creeps around the rear of the building. There, a wooden door with gouges in it where the Omnics' blades tried to hack it down. Gabriel grasps the handle and pushes gently...

Fucking locked. Gods damnit. Had to get assigned to a gang with a half a brain between them. Gabriel steels himself.

When he kicks the door open it's too damn dark to see anything but they can probably see him, silhouetted in starlight. Gabriel starts by hurling a gout of flame at the middle of the room.

It's...easy. Much easier than it used to be—more natural, hardly a touch of concentration to bring it into existence. In the burst of light he counts only two, two figures lying on straw mattresses near the dual shrines to Dius and Nuus at the head of the chapel. Might be others among the benches but his eyes spot no movement in the dark.

A harsh shout. "Jesse!"

Gabriel pours fire at the nearest bench and it catches, light dancing through the stone hall. Now he can see, which is one problem taken care of. The next problem is the bench flying at his head.

He dives, scrambling across the floor, and unleashes a long line of curses underh is breath. No normal human could hurl a bench like that, which means either prosthetics—not likely, unless they have a tech working for them—or he's dealing with a fucking mage. Something the Council did not let on. And from the look of it, the guy does telekinesis, a hard discipline to master.

Gabriel throws some more fire in the general direction of the shrines and then draws his sword. A telekinetic with a dozen 400-pound benches beats a fire mage ten times out of ten.

He’s outmatched magically. So he'll have to try kicking the guy's ass the old-fashioned way.

The front doors burst open, and the guards come running in. Gabriel doesn't have time for that, and he hurls a torrent of flame down the aisle—the magic _gushing_ out of him, eager to take shape. Screams. Good. Another fucking bench coming at his head so he lashes out with a messy burst of force magic and knocks the thing just far enough off-course for him to dodge it. Tries another gout of fire toward the shadowy shape gesturing at him but _another_ fucking bench blocks the flames. Gods, he hates this.

The shadowy figure is a haggard-looking man with narrowed golden-brown eyes, and he's got a blade in hand too. If Gabriel can force him to keep both hands on the hilt, this might be winnable. The second guy is nowhere to be seen.

One problem at a time. Gabriel brings the greatsword up. The Deadlock boss blocks.

No ringing of metal on metal. Instead his sword... _sticks_. Then it starts to wobble like it's lodged in a speeding cart and when his opponent steps into the block and breaks it Hellfire flies back and nearly out of Gabriel's grip. It's only a split-second flash of fire from his flailing hand that keeps the Deadlock boss from hacking his gut open. But there's another gods-damned bench coming at him so he hits the ground and rolls back. Bad fucking positioning, he needs to stay close. Except the guy enchanted his fucking blade, apparently, so a straight-up swordfight doesn't look good either. Gabriel is on his feet, blade in hand—

The faintest glint of light, a bare flicker in his peripheral vision. Gabriel heaves his body backwards. Not fast enough. The knife cuts his mouth as it flies past, and Gabriel stumbles back, cupping his slit-open lips. That would have gone through his throat if he hadn't dodged. And it still might, because it's done a U-turn in midair and is coming right back. Gabriel swats it down, ejecting a swatch of force magic from his hand. It spins and sticks in a crack in the stone floor.

Had to be the second guy because a bench nails him in the side and sends him skidding across the ground. Through some miracle Hellfire is still clutched in his hand so when the Deadlock boss tries to stab him at least he can knock the blow aside. Another spout of flame, too slow to connect but at least it gives him the space to stagger to his feet. Flying knife. Fuck. On instinct he blocks with a forearm and the blade pierces his leather vambrace and dives into his flesh.

Okay. He's had enough of this.

The heat pours off of him like a wood stove whose door has been flung open—dry, searing heat, the air shimmering around him. His opponent's hand is moving so Gabriel lunges forward to nip that in the bud—too late because this asshole's fucking good and the bench slams into his leg, putting him on the ground again.

But the guy doesn't follow up. Instead he shouts "Jesse!" and heads for the main door. Gabriel tries to rise but there's a nasty hitch in his knee that wasn't there before he got laid out. Fucker.

The second guy. Must be Jesse. A slip of a shadow darting out from his hiding place behind the shrines. Oh, no. Not today.

The flames deluge out of him— _out_ of him, like they've been there all along, just waiting to be released. A sea of flames, rushing through the chapel, engulfing the benches and setting them all ablaze. The second guy halts, his way blocked.

Not a guy. A kid—a teenager, maybe fifteen, skinny as a string bean. _That's_ who was throwing knives at him?

"Jesse!"

One bench rises, wobbling, into the air, then rolls off to the side. Telekinesis isn't as easy when the shit you're trying to move is on fire. Too much energy all in oen place. Through the smoke Gabriel picks out the Deadlock boss, standing in front of the open door. He could be fleeing. Instead he's trying to clear a path for the kid.

Gabriel takes it instead, limping through the smoke and flames. He feels the heat, from the fire and what's radiating off his own skin, is aware of how his clothing is starting to smolder. Yet it doesn't bother him, and he doesn't burn. The Deadlock boss freezes.

He's gonna run. Fucker. Gabriel hurls a burst of flame but the guy's already bolted. Won't catch him with this limp. But—

He spins, spots the teenager by the back of the chapel, trying to edge around a blazing bench to get to the rear door. Gabriel raisesh is arms. Fire issues from him, swamping the chapel again. The kid slams himself up flat against the back wall, and the flames desist, leaving him untouched. Gabriel sheathes his sword and advances. Missed one mage, but he’s got another.

The kid cowers, balled up at the base of the wall. “Please don’t kill me! Please don’t!“

Again with the begging. His skin is reddening. Right. Gabriel closes off the heat, though it doesn’t really fix things, considering the fire everywhere.

_Spare no one._

“Jesse, right?” Gabriel says.

The kid coughs with the smoke. “Y-yeah. Jesse McCree.”

“Okay, Jesse. Let’s get out of here.” Gabriel leans down, grabs his shirt, and hauls him upright.

Out the front door. Gabriel clears a path, the flames parting for him, and takes a deep breath once they’re outside and away from the smoke. The chapel is stone and won’t burn but the windows are alight from the fire within, and a handful of people have begun to gather, more trickling in. Most are weaponless, woken from sleep.

“Hey,” Gabriel says.

Jesse, on the verge of tears—he’s _maybe_ sixteen—looks up sharply, shirt still caught in Gabriel’s grip. “Yeah?”

“I know you still got knives on you. Throw ‘em away.”

Only the smallest hitch of hesitation before the knives come out, from his pockets and waistband, discarded quickly to the ground. Gabriel reflects that he must have made an imposing figure in there, once he stopped getting his ass kicked. He lets the kid go. “Start walking. Run and I burn you alive.”

Jesse starts creeping forward. A little slow, but with his busted knee Gabriel doesn’t mind. He yanks out the knife still stuck in his vambrace and pulls the straps as tight as they’ll go to staunch the bleeding.

_Spare no one._

He raises his arms.

Maybe they saw their boss sprinting out of here, or maybe they’re just sleepy and in no mood to fight. But half have already begun running and the other half follow when they see him casting. A smart choice.

Fire races over the ground to either side, ravening, climbing up wooden walls and leaping gleefully from one building to the next. Gabriel limps forward, the flames unceasing, feeling for the first time the strain of it— _so_ much magic, how it starts to hollow him out even as it rises so naturally to his hands. And there’s still most of the town to go. Jesse walks in front, cringing, covering his head. But he doesn’t run.

Embers rise into the air, and smoke chokes the night sky. Anyone inside those buildings will burn. Amazing how steady it is; his body was his strength before but now it seems only a link in the chain and a weak one at that, warped and made brittle by the fire that courses through it. The fire that seems to be without end, leaping over the ground in its unrelenting desire to consume. Gabriel puts one foot in front of the other and prays he does not falter. Almost there.

The gate appears through the smoke and a frantic neighing hits his ears. The sound is somehow just enough to snap his frail concentration and Gabriel wavers, crouching. The flames fall off but still burn around him, the town ruined now for good. He wipes his mouth gingerly. Blood. That cut’ll leave a scar. “Hey. Jesse.”

The kid turns. “Huh?”

“How old are you?”

“Uh…seventeen.”

Gabriel stares. “You’re fucking _seventeen?”_

Jesse folds his arms, somehow frightened and indignant at the same time. “Yeah.”

“Well. You’ve got a good, long life ahead of you.” Gabriel tries to make a fist. Weak. “Do you want to spend the rest of it in the business of extortion and petty thievery, or do you want to do something that matters?”

Jesse hugs himself. “You just killed all my friends.”

The flames roar around them, smoke blowing across the road. “They weren’t your friends. They were thieves and murderers who preyed on the defenseless. Or on seventeen-year-olds with magic they could exploit. You can do a lot of good with that magic, or you can keep on stealing and get killed by me or someone like me.” He shrugs. “Up to you. Now go free those horses. Keep your favorite.”

Jesse spins and stalks off toward the stables.

Gabriel struggles to his feet. Weak. And the fucking knee. But the flame rises to his hands anyway, charging over the dirt to consume what houses aren’t already ablaze. It’s not good that the boss got away, but he hopes that the absolute destruction of their headquarters and their core group will put an end to Deadlock, or at least weaken them enough for Royaume forces to do the rest. The Council will be pissed, of course.

He limps forward through the inferno. Smoke gusts down the street, making him cough. Wasn’t much of a pep talk—wasn’t much time—so he wouldn’t be surprised if it failed. Scared as the kid is, he still must have known that he could easily escape on horseback. Almost there. The gate is just a few yards off, and beside it, the empty stable. No horses.

No kid.

Well, it was worth a shot. The Council will be pissed about that too. A mage within his grasp and Gabriel let him go. But he doesn’t like killing people, especially not teenagers. He steels himself and summons up one final spray of fire. The stable lights, thatched roof catching quickly, although the recoil almost knocks him off his feet. _Weak._

An entire town destroyed in just a few minutes. He couldn’t do that before. Not before the beast in the dungeon…changed him. Gabriel passes under the gate, leaving the raging flames behind.

“Hey.”

He stops.

Jesse is there, standing beside the gate guards’ corpses, an uneasy bay dancing beside him. He rubs its neck to calm it. “Who are you, anyways?”

Huh. He did stick around. Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. “You ever heard of Overwatch?”

“ ‘Course I fuckin’ heard of Overwatch.”

“Well, that’s me. Was me.”

The kid’s eyes go wide. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. My name’s Gabriel Reyes, and I’ve killed seven Omnia personally and orchestrated the deaths of most of the rest. Jack did a couple without me when I broke my back and had to spend time in recovery.” He runs a hand over his shorn hair. “But I’ve been, ah…reassigned.” He turns and heads through the grass to where he left Blossom tied up.

“Does this mean I get to join Overwatch?” The kid, following.

“No. Like I said, I was reassigned.”

“Why? What’d you do?”

“The right thing,” Gabriel says. “But it didn’t go over well. So they put me out of sight.”

A moment’s quiet. The flames crackle and roar, embers rising like fireflies in the night to where clouds linger, their bellies glowing in muted orange. “What’re you gonna do with me?” Jesse asks.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh. After everything he’s just done, the night air is freezing as it fills his lungs. “Well, you interested in covert ops?”

No reply. The faint rustling of grass brushing his trousers as he walks. “Do I got a choice?” Jesse says.

“Not really,” Gabriel replies.

Another pause. There’s Blossom, lead taught. She’s not happy about the fire. “You said Deadlock was exploiting me for my magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t really see how this is any different.”

Gabriel laughs—even that effortful. “Listen, you’ve helped some bad people do some bad shit. There’s only so much I can do. And anyways, you get to do something good now. That’s a privilege.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gabriel looks over his shoulder. “You come work for me, I’ll keep you from getting taken in and tried for whatever it is you’ve done. All you gotta do in return is the right thing. What do you think?”

Jesse stares at the ground. “So, what, if I mess up you turn me in?”

“No. I get you back on track.” They’ve reached Blossom, and Gabriel starts to untie her. His fingers are clumsy, his right arm burning from the knife-wound. “I got a good feeling about you.”

“I stuck you with knives.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve got some skill.” The lead falls free from the tree. “But you could have run and you didn’t.”

“Maybe I was just curious,” Jesse mutters.

“Maybe.” Gabriel jerks his head. “Come on. Let’s get back to Mariposa.”

He tries to mount but his leg gives and he thuds back to the ground—on his bad knee, stumbles back and just manages not to fall. He’s so weak it feels like he’s floating on air. Well, if it weren’t obvious that Jesse could kick his ass and run before, then it is now.

Yet no blast of force knocks him to the ground, and there’s no sound of hoofbeats galloping away through the tall grass. Gabriel makes a second attempt and succeeds this time, barely, hauling himself over Blossom’s back.

“Having trouble?” Jesse asks drily.

“Just set a whole goddamn town on fire.” Gabriel tugs Blossom’s reins, pointing her north. “I’m tired.”

They reach the road and go at a trot, side by side. Gabriel looks over his shoulder. The town still burns and will for some time. Sickly orange smog rises into the sky.

It’s a familiar sight. Gabriel witnessed it many times during the Crisis, following the trail the Omnics left behind them.

He faces north. It’s time to move on.

——

Gabriel wakes with half his face coated in saliva.

With a groan he sits up, wiping his mouth and then wincing as the scab coating his lips starts to break. Fucking hells. The rooms at the inn don’t come with mirrors so he can only imagine what he must look like to others—what he looked like last night, although there weren’t many awake to see him. He rubs his eyes, squinting. Sunlight streams through the window. Orange. Afternoon.

Jesse’s gone.

Was asleep on the floor last Gabriel saw him but now the floorboards are unoccupied. Little asshole pulled a runner after all. Un-fucking-fortunate, not least because Gabriel has to kill him now. If a mage goes bad, they have to die. No imprisonment, no rehabilitation. It’s too dangerous.

And he really doesn’t want to kill a seventeen-year-old but the risk analysis is crystal-clear. Already took a hell of a chance on him; won’t make the same mistake again. Gabriel stands, stretching. At least his strength seems to be back.

The barkeep’s still there, although she’s plainly unhappy having to deal with the guy with the cut-up face again. “What d’you want?”

Gabriel stifles a yawn. “The kid who was with me earlier, you seen him?”

“Yeah, headed out a few hours back.”

“Thanks.” He leaves a tip for her troubles and goes to find Blossom.

A bit more asking around and he heads out through the east gate. The sun sinksbehind him as Blossom canters over the dry dirt. Ahead a few clouds gather at the edge of the sky. Rain, maybe. They could use it here.

A few travelers pass him by, a woman on a mule and a family in a cart pulled by a sturdy draft horse. Gabriel stops to ask if they’ve seen a kid riding past on a bay. The woman on the mule shakes her head and ambles on; the father, on seeing Gabriel’s face up close, tries to spur his horse but the draft trots for a couple of steps before resuming its plodding pace. Gabriel waves them goodbye with an amused (and painful) grin. The little girl in the rear waves back.

No luck. Gabriel’s jaw tightens as the sun finally dips below the horizon; the eastern sky is still a pale yellow-blue, the clouds far off in dark purple. He really thought he had that one. His star status as the Omnia-killer should have gotten him a _little_ more credit. But apparently not. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the kid walk through the burning town. Well, it was a difficult situation. And he was fucking tired, after setting literally everything on fire.

But not as tired as he should have been. One mage shouldn’t be able to summon that much power within the space of ten minutes and _definitely_ shouldn’t be able to walk out on their own two feet afterwards. What, _exactly,_ did the beast do to him? It’s been too…something, too excruciating or shameful to think about. But that—what he did in Plana Albea—that’s important. The feeling of cracks deep inside him, the ease with which magic erupts from his hands, the bottomless power—the only limiting factor his own exhaustion—

_When you use soul magic again—_

Gabriel sits back in the saddle, Blossom slowing to a trot. The Council’s words, on their way back up the stairs. Something has felt off about that ever since he first heard it but he never picked it up. _When you use soul magic again._ Not _if. When._

Gabriel stares at his palm, the calloused skin. He’s using it all the time, whether he wants to or not. That’s why he’s so powerful. Nothing like the last time—far more restrained, and without any of the vulnerability. That’s what the Council made sure of.

But the cracks in him won’t close, and it’s raw power that flows through. The fucking Council. They _knew_ what the beast did to him, and they never told him, let alone asked.

 _Every second you continue breathing is a gift for which you should be on your_ knees _thanking us._

Gabriel grits his teeth, wincing as his sliced lips stretch. It’s true, they could have executed him— _should_ have, according to the laws of the land. Still, this—this is hardly a boon.

Gabriel is so deep in thought coming up on the canyon he almost doesn’t spot the horse off to the north, grazing on the tall grass by the cliffside. He squints. Is that—gods, he hopes it’s a bay. He digs his heels in, spurring Blossom to a gallop.

The horse looks up at his approach, watches him a moment, then continues grazing. It _is_ a bay. But Gabriel doesn’t see Jesse. Might be too late, although why would the kid ditch his horse? Gabriel slows as he comes up—

Oh. Jesse sits with his legs hanging over the cliff-edge, hidden by the tall grass.

His feet swing out over the wide river far below. He doesn’t turn at the sound of hoofbeats, only gazes east where the dark descends and the pale yellow at the horizon starts to disappear under its deep purple shadow. Gabriel dismounts, hopping when the bad knee gives. “You didn’t make it very far.”

Jesse shrugs his thin shoulders and doesn’t reply.

Gabriel comes up to the cliff-edge and lowers himself gingerly to the ground. “You know the sunset’s behind you, right? The view’s a lot better.”

“Did you really kill seven of those things?” Jesse asks.

Gabriel shifts. “Yeah.”

“And if I go with you, I get to kill Omnics?”

“Uh—no, not really. The Omnia are all dead, the Omnics are free.”

“Then what’s the fuckin’ point?” Jesse mutters.

Things are starting to make sense. “Ah. You were a Crisis orphan.”

“Yeah. Kinda. Never saw my mom again.”

“How long ago?”

“Five years.”

“Hm. One of the first.”

“Guess that’s just my gods-damn luck.”

Gabriel leans back on his hands. The tall grass tickles his ears. “Well, our targets won’t be Omnics, I can pretty much guarantee you that. Most of them are in hiding.”

“What, so we gotta go after people then?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never killed someone?” Gabriel retorts. “You looked pretty comfortable with those knives.”

“Well, yeah, but that was all self-defense! Or to protect my friends!”

He’s indignant again, and Gabriel meets his gaze, thinking. Then he speaks. “They weren’t your friends, Jesse.”

“How would you—“

“If you weren’t a mage they would have slit your throat for the clothes on your back,” Gabriel interrupts. “But you were right. I’m not really your friend either. I’m either your boss or your executioner. One or the other.”

Jesse hugs his knees to his chest. “I just wanna go back to Plana Albea with Jarlos and everyone else.”

“Jarlos?”

“The guy you almost killed,” Jesse snaps.

Ah. The Deadlock boss. “Did you really like all that shit? The stealing, murdering, destroying people’s homes?”

Jesse shrugs. “They’re not all bad. They saved me. I woulda died without ‘em.”

“And turned you into a criminal.”

“They took me in,” Jesse mumbles. “And you killed them.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel says. “Now everyone whose lives they were gonna ruin gets to not worry about that.”

“You didn’t have to _murder_ every—“

“Didn’t I?” Gabriel retorts. “What else could I have done? Brought in an army brigade? You would have known we were coming days in advance. You would have scattered like cockroaches under flame.”

“I’m not a gods-damned _cockroach!”_

 _“I know!”_ Gabriel grabs Jesse’s gaze and holds it. “You’re a seventeen-year-old kid who was being dragged around by a group of bandits so they could score bigger hauls! Is that what you want to be? Would you die for that?”

Jesse glares at him, furious, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re not giving me a choice!”

“You’re right. Join or die isn’t much of a choice,” Gabriel says. “But I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to make this something you can be proud of. Okay? You’re a kid. You deserve a real shot. I mean that.”

Jesse sniffles and swipes at his eyes, watching the eastern sky for a long moment. Then: “Fine,” he mumbles. “I don’t wanna die.”

Gabriel lets out a long breath, the tension draining out of him, and sends a prayer of thanks to the gods.

———

Jesse whistles, gazing up at the ivy-covered manor. “This is your house?”

“No. It’s our base of operations.” Gabriel guides Blossom left towards the stables.

“Huh. Fancy shit.”

“Looks can be deceiving. No one’s lived in this place for decades.” Leaves crunch under Blossom’s hooves; autumn seems to have arrived while he was away. “Good news is you have your pick of rooms. Bad news is you have to drive out the bats and mice yourself.”

Jesse’s still grinning. “Thanks, boss.”

Nuus. The kid’s easily impressed. Gabriel tried to get a better sense of him on their journey north but couldn’t glean much—he _is_ a kid, that’s for sure, resentful one minute and guffawing the next when he forgets he’s supposed to be mad. He gets way too excited about beds and regular meals. Lots of questions about the Crisis. _Why did the Omnics change? Who made the Omnia?_

_Are you sure they’re all dead?_

Gabriel guides Blossom into the stables and pours her some feed. Sun’s down already. Better talk to the Council now. Good to get it over with.

The scryer, like the mirror downstairs, is tarnished. Gabriel sighs and goes down to the pantry—well-stocked with regular deliveries, and he finds some vinegar and salt and a rag. Jesse wanders in after Gabriel’s almost done scrubbing. The round silver surface is mostly clean; the decorative metal roses around the edge will have to stay grimy for now. “So, uh,” Gabriel says. “The Council is…are, I guess, twelve people. Technically. But they all inhabit one body and their head is a magical mirror…thing. So just…don’t be weirded out.”

“Too late,” Jesse mutters.

“Did you pick a room?”

“Yeah. It’s huge. Big windows.”

“I’ll request another mattress.” Gabriel grasps the edge of the silver disk and dives into the network.

The Council have made themselves easy to find, and a chamber appears almost instantly, lined with paintings in several, wildly different styles. Gabriel waits. Maybe they’re not in. Then he could have one night of peace before they bite his head off—

“Reyes.” The Council, urgent; they appear before him. “Well?”

“I burned their headquarters to the ground,” he says. “The whole town.”

“And the person in charge?”

“Yeah, about that. Did you know he was a mage?”

The briefest pause. “We had…suspicions.”

Gabriel’s fists clench and unclench as he suppresses the rush of anger. “Well, thanks for fucking telling me. No, I didn’t kill him. Next time don’t send a _fire mage_ to kill a telekinetic. It’s a bad fucking matchup.”

A new voice, a man’s. “He _escaped?”_

“Yes, he escaped. In the future, maybe don’t withhold important shit like that from me. Nuus.”

“You forget who you’re talking to,” they snarl.

More like forgetting that he’s about to ask for a big favor. Gabriel sighs. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Hm.” They’re quiet a moment. “You burned the town? All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“And the inhabitants?”

“Think a few got out. Most didn’t have time.”

He waits, breath caught in his throat. The Council’s many faces gaze at him, distorted through their shifting mirror and again through the tarnished scryer. Is that displeasure? Approval? They could still bring him to trial and sentence him. The queen might not send him to the headsman’s block but he’d never be allowed to use magic again.

Which doesn’t make this any easier. “And one more thing.” He grabs Jesse’s arm and tugs him into view. “I added a new member to my team.”

“Your _team?”_

“Yeah. That job would have gone a lot easier if I had backup.”

“He’s a child. Where did you find him? Why did you bring him there?”

Gabriel winces. “He used to work for Deadlock.”

A noise of irritation. “No. Kill him.”

Jesse starts and tries to pull away, but Gabriel holds on. “He can help us. He’s a mage.”

“I don’t care. Kill him.”

“He could have run but decided to stay instead. I’ll take full responsibility for him. If things don’t work out, you can take it out on me.”

“Really?” A different voice, derisive. “You’d risk your second chance for a child you just met?”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Gabriel snaps. “He’s staying.”

They wave a hand. “Have it your way. But if anything goes wrong, you _will_ pay for it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know.”

“Fine. No new work for now, but we’ll be in touch. Send us a full report.”

“You got it.”

The scryer goes dark. Gabriel releases Jesse at last. “Ah…sorry.” Just didn’t want you to run off for good.”

Jesse folds his arms. “What’d they mean, second chance?”

Ah, why in hells not? “So…what’d you hear about how the last Omnium died?”

“Jack Morrison was alone on the field with the Omnium coming straight at him so he called down fire and lightning from the sky and killed it all by himself.”

Of course that’s the official story. “Yeah, well, that’s bullshit. We killed it together, and I struck the final blow. But we were the only two mages there, so I had to use soul magic to bring it down.”

Jesse stares at him. “That’s illegal.”

Gabriel bites back the retort that rises to his tongue. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“Ohhh.” Jesse nods knowingly. “I get it now. That’s why the only guy you can get on your team is a seventeen-year-old petty thief like myself.”

Gabriel rubs his eyes. “Basically.”

“Okay.” Jesse flops down in a dusty armchair that creaks ominously even under his insubstantial weight. “So if we ain’t killing Omnics, what exactly is our mission?”

A good question, and one Gabriel’s been trying to avoid. “The Council’s dirty work,” he sighs.

A snort. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Fuck off.” He scrapes at a fleck of tarnish on the scryer. “Anyways, it’s all in service of the greater good.”

Jesse’s grinning. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”

How could he be? _Spare no one._ Royaume has seen unprecedented growth since the Council came together a century ago. Yet the image of Plana Albea burning, the thundering roar of flames, and he untouched somehow, drawing fire from his very core like a wellspring of death…

“Then we’re gonna make it for the greater good,” Gabriel says.

Jesse shrugs. “I ain’t complaining.”

“Good. Complaining is punishable by ten laps around the estate.”

_“What?”_

“And questioning your superior officer is fifteen laps. Come on, let’s go. We’ll do it together.” Gabriel gestures.

Jesse moans but hauls himself to his feet and shambles out the door. Now Gabriel grins. “I’ll make something out of you whether you like it or not.”


End file.
